


Come What May

by Juldooz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Hopeful angst, Melodramatic, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, and stuff, regency au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juldooz/pseuds/Juldooz
Summary: At a ball one night Molly has a sudden epiphany. Meanwhile, Sherlock’s eyes are opened to things previously unseen. Will their separate moments of sudden realization tear them apart or push them together?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 37
Kudos: 155





	1. The Heartbreak of Molly Hooper

**Author's Note:**

> Long time reader, first time posting. First story. First everything.
> 
> I do not own Sherlock Holmes.

Molly’s thoughts swirled as she watched the couples lining up in the center of the room for the next set. The room shone, full of dazzling candles casting their dusky glow over the sea of cream and pale pink gowns. It was wonderful to observe, even if joining in was not ultimately her favorite pastime, she surely did savor basking in the entertainment of the assembly as they enjoyed themselves. 

At the end of the hall the musicians drew their first notes and the harmonious chords resonated throughout the room. 

It was when the dance had begun in earnest that Molly felt her heart swell. She wished she had been surprised by the sudden appearance of these added emotions, but she was familiar with the mix of dejection and melancholy that usually accompanied her longing that closely followed these moments of felicity.

Picking up her skirts she took a steadying breath as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she made her way away from the dance floor to find some semblance of privacy. When these feelings came, they were tiring at best, and would leave her feeling defeated at the worst. 

_ A nice place to sit out of the way will do nicely _ , she thought. 

The crowd surrounding her had turned from the energetic and joyful scene she witnessed only moments ago and now began to feel oppressive and close, crushing in around her. Molly no longer found the atmosphere pleasant. The laughter pierced through her and she could barely hear her own thoughts over the din of conversation. She made her way through the people to a small hallway, just off the main floor. It was not far from the others, at least not as far as she would have liked, but it contained a small bench on which she sat, and it was below enough anyone’s notice that it did give her the promise of seclusion that she sought. Especially since the gleam of the many candles were not as bright in her little hiding spot and offered her concealment in the shadow.

_ Why is this always my response? Whenever I attempt to find contentment with the way things are, I find myself struggling to come to terms with reality! _

Molly Hooper had endeavored to untangle her heart from her oldest, dearest friend, for many years. 

Having lost her mother at an early age, she was brought under the wing of Lady Holmes, and in so doing formed a friendship with the boy (now man), young Sherlock Holmes, as well. And since the loss of her father a couple years previous, and thereby becoming orphaned, she had been ostensibly adopted by the Holmes family. 

Now it was time for her to make her way in society, aided by her surrogate family. This however, in Molly’s opinion, was merely something to endure out of respect for the woman who cared for her so well in the absence of her own mother. 

Molly did not want to  _ find _ a husband. Her heart was already gone. It had been soon after her acquaintance with Sherlock. 

_ Mr. Holmes _ , she corrected herself.

_ Unfortunately _ , she continued,  _ he doesn’t want me _ .

At this thought she finally lost her ability to hold back the tears that had threatened to fall. They continued to silently fall while she struggled to maintain her breath in an attempt to preserve her composure. 

_ He doesn’t want me _ , she repeated.

~oOo~

Sherlock Holmes stood stoically on the steps near the entrance of the dance hall. He prided himself on his ability to find the best place to plant himself in any situation. At the moment he had a good view of the room, with a higher vantage point provided to him by the second step, he was both far away from those interested in dancing and very near his escape route. 

Tall and elegant, he did try to keep the look of utter disdain off of his face. It wasn’t that these events disgusted him on a matter of principle, he vaguely understood that other people enjoyed this type of thing, but as it was mandatory for him to attend he found himself quickly visited by boredom. And while he did enjoy dancing, quite a bit actually, he didn’t appreciate having to make polite conversation or navigating the social subtleties that would easily become tedious. It was a shame that some ladies still felt it necessary to bother him because of his striking features or his station in the gentry, or whichever other insipid ideal was being gossiped about this time. Simply being the son of a Country Squire was enough to draw their attention.

Sherlock watched from across the room as the scene concerning Molly played out as she made her withdrawal. He observed from his position that she felt overwhelmed. Her haste gave away her emotions. 

_ But what brought on this sudden change? _

His curiosity, and something akin to concern, motivated him to follow her immediately as she made her way through the crowds. By the time he approached the place where she sat he perceived that her state had been greatly exacerbated. She had already begun to cry quietly to herself.

“Miss Hooper! Pray, tell me, are you all right? What has happened?” he pleaded, worry laced in his voice. Fear and frustration gripped him as he joined her on the small bench, the sight before him so incongruous with the woman he knew. __

_ My Molly is strong, my Molly is optimistic and joyful, my Molly even enjoys these tedious affairs! What could have possibly inspired this sort of reaction from my Molly?  _

His request was followed by a short silence as she struggled against her tears. 

“He doesn’t want me.” Her small voice finally cut through his thoughts - barely a whisper. 

Sherlock was stunned. 

_ ‘He’? ‘He’ who?!  _ he wondered. A small tightness, something like fury, was beginning to grow somewhere deep in his chest. 

“Who doesn’t want you, Miss Hooper?”

She looked so vulnerable at that moment, so emotionally raw, even attempting to make herself smaller; arms wrapped around herself protectively. Sherlock’s desire to protect her himself rose as he placed his hands on her shoulders to face her towards him, aiming to have her focus, wanting to communicate how vitally important it was to him that he know the answer to his question so as to fix the problem. 

“Who is  _ ‘he’ _ ?” Sherlock demanded. 

For a long moment their eyes remained locked and Molly remained silent. Sherlock’s every nerve was on alert. His grip on her shoulders tightening enough to try and communicate his concern and his desperate desire to comfort her, to fix her problems. Eventually Molly looked down sadly and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Unable to answer his request. 

A numb buzzing reverberated in his head and could be felt throughout his limbs. 

_ When did she give her heart away, and why wasn’t it to me? _

Too shocked and overwhelmed by the way the evening had unfolded to spend any time unpacking  _ that _ thought, he eased his one arm around her back as the other fell away to cradle her arm as he pulled her to his side and rest her head on his shoulder, bringing his cheek to her forehead. Improper as it may be (no one was really paying them any mind anyhow), his dear friend was heartbroken and he would be damned if he couldn’t offer her some sort of solace in the moment.

_ Something must be done,  _ he resolved.  _ I will fix this. If this  _ cad  _ won’t claim Molly’s heart and pick up the pieces he’s responsible for, then I will make sure she’s taken care of.  _

~oOo~

Molly knew this was a twisted way of finding her comfort, she even fought the excitement she felt when he joined her on the bench. Unwilling let herself run away flights of fancy at his attention. Of course, it might break her to be held by the man she loved, to be looked at as if his whole world had been shattered by her pain. She knew that it was not what life had in store for her, but he was also her oldest and dearest friend. She needed relief right now. To be sure, how much more of her heart was truly at risk, sitting here in his embrace, when he already held it in its entirety?

This was one of the bittersweet parts of their friendship: always so close and so supportive. But that was all it would ever be. He was the very first and the very last person she wanted to confide in, especially in this moment. How could she look at him and tell him she grieved for  _ him _ ? That she mourned what would not be?

_ I will find peace in knowing that he cares, in his own way. But I must not dwell on these emotions any longer. I may never be rid of them, but they cannot make me weak,  _ she resolved,  _ they can only make me stronger. And I will move forward all the better for it. _

Taking a fortifying breath, Molly sat straighter, easing herself away and pulling her arm out of his hold until she took his hand in hers. Her face calmly reflected the peace she felt. 

“Thank you Mr. Holmes,” she smiled sweetly. “I appreciate your aid in my moment of need. How daft I must have seemed! You are such a dear friend,” she laughed as she wiped away the last of her tears and a slight blush added contrast to her pale face with some blotchy redness from having just been crying. 

“No! Not at all, Miss Hooper. I am simply glad to be of service. And more than a little desirous to put your mind at ease. Please, M-Molly,” he stammered, looking bashful at this familiarity. “Can you tell me what this was all about?”

She only smiled brighter, wishing to ease his fears. “That is unnecessary, it is done now. There is nothing but to move forward from this trial. Hopefully having grown and learned a thing or two about the world too. If I don’t I might just end up as one of your cases and all my suffering would be for naught!” She gave a shuddering laugh in an attempt at levity, before she leaned in slightly, giving him a conspiratorial smirk, “Now, let’s enjoy what remains of this beautiful evening.”

~oOo~

Molly was quite determined to quit her foolishness. 

Sherlock was quite determined to quit being a fool.


	2. Sherlock Holmes Finds His Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ponders last evening’s happenings as he studies his memories and tests his logic to understand what it all could mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your response and interest in my story. I feel compelled to apologize for the time it took me to write this, and even the length of the chapter. But, I know that you are all so understanding and very forgiving. So, I will just say thank you again, for continuing on with me! 
> 
> Also, these characters are not mine.

Sherlock had resolved to quit his foolishness. But he still had so much to decipher. 

Upon returning to his rooms at Baker Street, Sherlock set to pacing around the flat at once.

He had always known that Molly was a very dear friend. Of course she was. How could she not be? Molly had been a constant presence in his life over the last eight years. As young children of thirteen and ten, he and Molly, respectively, had bonded over books and learning. Never anything as dull as what the tutors considered important for instruction. But, with their own time, searching the library for subjects of interest, studying theorems, going out and observing the natural and social sciences, devising their own theories from these observations. Even conducting their own research experiments. 

There was a time when Sherlock might have thought back on their time growing up with vague indifference. At best, assuming himself lucky! That he would be so fortunate as to be able to run around his home, the nearby town, and surrounding countryside with such an equally curious companion. He had been spoiled for the kind of support provided by one with corresponding inquisitiveness. Molly felt such joy for their daily investigations that she was occasionally the one that dragged him towards potentially dangerous situations. 

_ Sherlock was sitting in the library of the family’s country home, reading a paper that had been published a few years previous on and formulating which experiment he would begin with to reproduce the study’s results, when her voice broke through his ruminations.  _

_ “Come on, Sherlock!” Molly called breathlessly, appearing in the open doorway.  _

_ “Well. Hello to you too,” he drawled, feigning slight irritation at having been interrupted from his independent studies. Sherlock knew that Molly must have brought him something of great interest, for she was much like himself when it came to scientific inquiry and study.  _

_ Molly huffed at him impatiently as she continued into the room, long locks flying behind her and cheeks rosy from running in her haste, beckoning him to join her. _

_ “Not a moment to lose!” she persisted. “There’s been another disappearance over at the Conrad Farm. More sheep escaped last night, or stolen as it were. It's the perfect opportunity for us to go and investigate what happened to those poor creatures,” she said with a note of worry. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out. Then we can make sure it doesn’t happen again!”  _

_ With his ego reliably stroked, he puffed out his chest and quirked an eyebrow in her direction. He had already deduced the cause and believed he solved the mystery the first time it happened, but now he had the opportunity to gather enough evidence to provide proof. Buoyed by her audacious exuberance and his own desire for answers, Sherlock allowed himself to be swept up in the excitement of the case as he followed closely behind.  _

_ It had taken barely any time to find sufficient evidence for their purposes, but it had taken much longer to slip away from the sheep rustlers unseen and convince the powers-that-be of what had taken place.  _

Yet, it wasn’t until he left home that he had any hints to just how favorable and idyllic his formative years had been. 

Then, only one year after Sherlock’s departure, Molly began the most trying time of her life. Her father had fallen terribly ill and faded quickly. During his illness Molly read every medical text she could get her hands on and barely left his side. 

Sherlock could see the way Molly fought to cherish every moment she had left with her father despite her underlying grief, knowing what the future would hold. He was awed by the way that she balanced her feelings and her obligation. Though she grieved, she never once condescended to those who were also suffering. Sherlock watched Molly treat those around her with honor and dignity, all the while acutely feeling the loss of her father.

This evidence impressed him. How could one person display such contradictory emotions? She was gracious and graceful, felt fully and yet acted rationally. She mourned deeply and still had room in her heart to display love toward those around her. 

She almost scared him, if Sherlock were to, in fact, feel fear. For what sort of person could be so very comfortable with themselves as to feel every emotion? 

As they grew, their interactions changed to fit expectations of propriety. No more running through town, no more exploring the nearby forests for hours on end. And still her constant friendship and presence in his life never wavered. Like his family, he assumed her position in his life was settled. She would be with him, in some capacity, for the rest of time. Why wouldn’t she be? 

While he pondered his offense and sense of betrayal at her potential romance, he felt it couldn’t come from marriage on principle. Because, while he endeavored to avoid the distractions often presented by the opposite sex, he could not expect all those around him to desire the same lifestyle. 

_ Surely Molly would still be around, much like a sister would, no matter her married state.  _

This thought turned his stomach. 

“No matter her married state?” He repeated out loud as images of her courtship to a faceless gentleman swam through his head. The two of them dancing together, walking in the park, and horror of horrors, he imagined the bird-witted imbecile daring to hold her hand!

“Focus!” he shouted, interrupting his thoughts once again. “Think about the facts!” he vocalized with a note of desperation before sprawling his body out on the settee as he dove into his mind palace, yet again, for the purpose of decoding his own peculiar behaviour.

~oOo~

This is the state in which Dr. John Watson found his friend late the next morning as he came down from his rooms on the second floor. 

John had quite enjoyed his time at the ball the previous evening being delightfully preoccupied with his fianceé. Miss Mary Morstan had been so incandescent and charming that it was easy to focus on her and ignore Sherlock, whom he could assume was being his usual misanthropic self. As such, John hadn’t paid much attention to his friend until this moment. 

Sherlock had spread himself out on the settee, treating the shared space more like his own, instead of theirs as it technically was. 

_ More than a technicality,  _ John thought begrudgingly.

Sherlock’s hair was disheveled and face haggard from remaining awake, for what John was unafraid to suppose, was the entire night. 

“You look like hell.” John commented almost to himself as he made his way into the kitchen, busying himself with tea and breakfast, certain he’d get at least some of the answers to his questions when Sherlock was ready, but no sooner. 

After sauntering back into the sitting room and taking a seat in his chair by the fire, John noticed a list that had been scrawled upon a scrap of paper and laid upon the table in front of him. John was so compelled by his absentminded curiosity that he hadn’t even stopped to consider whether or not he should be reading it. He picked it up at once and as he began to comprehend what was written, he easily forgot about breakfast and became completely taken in with the discovery. As he quietly continued to read, his shock quickly became utter befuddlement at what the paper contained. Upon the paper, he read: 

Facts:

  1. Unsettled at discovering Molly even _had_ a suitor
  2. She’s been a very close friend nearly half my life
  3. Has she betrayed me?
  4. Molly _could_ get married, I suppose people _do..._
  5. She lit up the room last night, has she always done that?
  6. Despite the betrayal, I wanted nothing more than to find the cad and stop her pain
  7. The idea of her finding happiness in marriage _to someone else_ does little to settle my mind



_ What on earth?!  _ John was completely lost.  _ Had Sherlock written this?  _

It was obviously his handwriting, but nothing else in what he had read or observed pointed to this being something Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, would consider thinking, let alone, putting to paper. Finally done waiting for his companion to rouse from his own thoughts, John called to his companion, eager to investigate this particular curiosity. 

“Holmes?” he spoke to the room, unable to take his eyes off of the evidence in question. 

“What is -- Oh, I see.”

John heard Sherlock rising from his reclined position and making his way towards the hearth. He had not expected, although perhaps he should, to have the list snapped from his hand as Sherlock made his way past him to flop onto his own arm chair across from Watson. 

“What's all that about then?” John nodded in the direction of the list and made a vague pointing motion with his hand. “Did something happen last night?”

The scowl that crossed Holmes’ face clearly communicated to John that recollecting what had transpired the previous evening was distasteful to his friend. 

“Oh, nothing too noteworthy.” Sherlock grumbled his response, not looking away from the empty fireplace as the reclaimed bit of parchment sat crumpled, clutched in his left hand. “However, it seems Miss Hooper’s hopes have been dashed,” he added with a note of bitterness. 

“ _ What _ ? What did you do, Holmes?” immediately accusing his friend of being at fault. He could easily imagine Sherlock callously touting his views on romantic entanglements, or perhaps even bringing attention to the prevailing knowledge of her attachment to Holmes himself and dismissing her feelings with some thoughtless comment, or other such Holmesisms.

“ _ Me _ ?” Holmes responded incredulously. “I helped her if anything. Comforted her when I noticed her distress.” He paused briefly in thought and added solemnly, “I still wish I could’ve done more.”

“So, you-you weren’t the cause of these ‘dashed hopes’?” still understanding that their definitions of  _ helpful _ could look tremendously different in practice, no matter how earnest Sherlock’s intentions were.

“Gratefully, no,” he sighed. “I do hate it when I am the reason for her pain. However, someone must’ve been the cause for it because I heard her say  _ ‘He doesn’t want me.’  _ A couple times, actually, as though she had just discovered it.”

“But you do not know who the man is?” John puzzled aloud to himself as his friend went on.

“Obviously not,” he scoffed. “There are two minor factors that I cannot account for. First, that she had hopes on anyone, or second, that she’d settle for any old idiot so quickly. I did, at least, believe her to have more sense than that!” Sherlock added forcefully.

“Well, why shouldn’t she make a match as soon as possible?” he prodded his friend as he leaned back in his armchair, deciding to play devil’s advocate. He hoped to inspire a revelation, or at the very least, call his bluff. “Miss Hooper’s future security must be a concern for herself and your family. Isn’t that why your parents are in London for the Season? To have her out in society?”

Sherlock bristled and bit out his response, “But why the rush? She has more sense than to attach herself to the first flatterer she lays eyes on. There’s more to the companionship she ultimately desires than the security she’d recieve from such an arrangement. She is no fool and I had highly doubted her capable of being taken up in a rush to ‘secure her future’.” 

“Why does this bother you, Holmes?” John inquired. Then tying the conversation back to what initially piqued his interest he said, “That list seemed to indicate some personal investment in whom or how she marries.”

“I don’t quite understand that yet. It's very distressing.” Sherlock seemed to drift inward as he spoke, struggling to connect the pieces. “I’ve been up all night trying to decide what to make of it if anything. It could be an offence on her behalf, but I also don’t want to see her hurry off into another life.” 

“Of course, you wouldn’t.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“You love her,” John said quite decisively. “No suitor will satisfy the situation. You want it to be  _ you _ .”

Sherlock stared blankly at his friend for a long while. 

“Why - Why would I want that? She doesn’t even love me.”

“Surely you feel things. Sherlock, you are not the man I depict in my stories. Those are sensationalized to promote readership. That list is proof!” gesturing violently at the piece of paper once again. 

Sherlock retightened his grip on the scrap taking on a defensive posture at this accusation.

“You, you are my friend,” John continued. “I know you’ve said you don’t pursue relationships, that women would distract you from  _ The Work _ . But I’ve seen you with Miss Hooper. She does not distract you from your work. If anything, she enhances it. Any time we’ve been at your parents during a lull in a case, you are running out the door not ten minutes later, claiming a  _ break in the case. _ She inspires you. She’s your friend. And she could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Sensing the truth in his friend’s words, some of the tension leaves Sherlock’s body and he leans in to listen closely as John continued building to his point.

Taking a moment to catch his breath and to look Sherlock sternly in the eyes, John finished, “You won’t know what she feels unless you do something about it. But, the  _ facts _ on that list of yours, they make it plenty clear that you care for her and feel more than some sort of protective jealousy over her. Not wanting her to be married?  _ At all _ ?” He raised his eyebrow and deepened his frown, “That sounds to me as though you have romantic intentions for her yourself.”

Lost in thought over all that had been said, Sherlock remained silent. 

And grasping that casework might rank lower as a priority to Sherlock in this particular instance, John decided that calling on Mary would make a lovely change to his agenda for the day. Standing up to take his leave John turned one last time to his flatmate and gave him a smile of understanding. “What are you willing to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Now its three chapters. Most likely ;D Just one more to go.
> 
> Thank you to my brilliant and generous Beta reader, forthegenuine!


	3. To Secure the Happiness of Molly Hooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has eliminated the impossible and has discovered the improbable to be true. What will he do about it now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the characters in this story belong to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. I own nothing.  
> Thank you. Enjoy!

After spending a fairly manic hour in the warm flat after John’s exit, Sherlock found himself impatiently throwing on his coat, hat, gloves and every other tedious layer, as quickly as he possibly could as he rushed out the door. 

Feeling the breeze as Sherlock stepped out onto the street in front of 221B offered temporary relief, as Sherlock found the roads full of pedestrians and cabs that afternoon. As well as work carts and an assortment of horse driven vehicles which thundered past, threatening to once again cloud the detectives finally cleared mind. He quickly set off, walking as briskly as could be socially acceptable, dodging all that was in his way, weaving in and out of people, navigating the crowds best he could. He was determined to remain focused on the task at hand. 

He decided quickly on the most direct route to his destination. Knowing only that he must find Molly and find a way to discuss recent events, and most importantly his recent discovery, with her, he now cut a path through Regents Park. It had become a familiar enough commute since his parent’s removal from the country, providing escape from the busy streets and allowing him to stray off the trails provided when the foot traffic was more crowded than bearable, as it might be on a day like today. 

He was only half way through the park when he came across the object of his search herself. 

Her hair was done in a simple bun, and she wore her favorite dress, one that he had seen too many times to count. And she had never looked more beautiful to him. As he approached her his face grew warm and he could feel the frisson building in his chest and radiating out toward his limbs. Now that he was face to face with her again Sherlock found himself quite at a loss for how to proceed. 

~o0o~

Molly was dressed in her most comfortable dress: white with small, happy yellow flowers dotted all over. There was simply something about the shape and the pattern of this dress that she found to be cheerful. She steadied herself as she made her way towards him again, so soon after her epiphany and resulting resolution, she needed all the fortitude she could muster. Taking a breath as he drew close saying to herself, “Have courage, stay constant, Molly,” 

_Well, it's not as though I expected things to change overnight,_ she assured herself as her eyes fell on him.

Arms behind his back, holding his shoulders straight with his best, her favorite, green waistcoat, his figure cut starkly, backlit against the bright sky.

“I was on my way to check in on you, Miss Hooper. To see how you are recovering, seeing as your evening had been upsetting.” He paused a moment, “I hope to help ease your spirits.”

_Wonderful,_ she thought as they began to walk, continuing their stroll aimlessly in no particular direction, _he might be the last person who will be able to comfort me now. Although his presence by my side last night was of immense help, I don’t know how healthy it will be to continue on in this way._

“And where were you off to this morning?” he continued. 

Molly smirked and rolled her eyes at him. “It's late in the day Mr. Holmes, I have already had my luncheon. But I suppose you haven’t eaten since the Hawkins’ ball last night anyway?” She added with an affectionate laugh, “Time seems quite irrelevant to you.”

“Well, I don’t need the movement of the sun to tell me when I feel hungry. It can’t help me follow clues and it certainly doesn’t assist me in the apprehension of the criminal class,” he huffed.

Molly waited patiently as he ranted, biting her bottom lip lightly to hold back her smile. 

Through her amusement, Molly soon felt the harsh reminder that she was being drawn, once again, towards the man in front of her; her heart holding her captive despite her desire for closure. She let out a heavy, thoughtful sigh as she returned her line of sight to the path ahead of them. 

Noticing her despondency, Sherlock interrupted her thoughts. “Time will heal your wound,” he said softly.

“My wound?” Molly smirked at his phrasing, his awkward manner made it evident that he was not used to the sentimentality he was attempting. He did, however, make an easy turn towards his flair for the dramatic. 

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied with forced bravado. And then leaning towards her slightly, angling his shoulders in her direction with a serious expression, “You must still be having feelings about...” he gestured idly as he searched for a description that fit her situation, “those feelings to which you were so dreadfully subjected last evening.” 

Molly nodded morosely, with resigned acceptance. 

“I admit, upon noticing the state in which you were, I found myself quite distressed. It has not since the loss of your parents that I have seen you so distraught.” Sherlock became solemn as he adopted a reverent tone, “You, who bore the burden of your own grief and still comforted those around you, to see you brought so low again…” Sherlock gave a thoughtful pause, “I want to be of more help to you than I have been. Is there not something I can do? Tell me what to do and I will fix it for you.” he finished hopefully as he flashed her a winsome smile, wishing to bring her comfort.

“But Mr. Holmes, the burden of my feelings are not yours to bear.” she argued decidedly. “I understand your drive to do your work and your aversion to distractions of any kind. You need not feel some misplaced sense of duty when it comes to these things. We are friends and I trust you, but I do not want you to feel there is any obligation on your part. My happiness is not your responsibility, it is my own.” Molly nodded her head firmly as she hoped for a tone of certainty that she did not feel. “And while I am grateful to your family for the support over the years and in every provision of want or need,” she added almost as an afterthought, “I must face my future head on. Even if it means I will be alone.” 

Determined to convey the depth of his sincerity, crushed by her view of herself through his eyes he resumed. “You are mistaken, Miss Hooper. There is, in fact, something in what you have just detailed that I envy,” turning up his chin he continued on his walk. 

Molly stared at Sherlock incredulously as she followed him on his meandering path. 

“Do you not see the point of my envy? Well, perhaps you are wise to neglect this line of questioning. But, I cannot be wise. Molly, I must tell you what I have only just come to understand, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment.”

“If you have any wish to speak to me about anything you have in contemplation, as your friend I cannot refuse you. Indeed, as your old friend, I will hear whatever it is you wish to tell me.”

“Molly!” he responded in exasperation, “You want our friendship to remain the same as it has always been, but I cannot desire that.”

“But why?” she inquired. Feeling her distress steadily growing, her questions became almost as rapid as her breathing. “I know you find sentiment to be a weakness, but have we not trusted each other for so long? Do we not have companionship and an ease as though we were brother and sister? Please tell me I am your friend.”

“I do not wish to call you my friend, because I hoped to call you something infinitely more dear. Just now you claimed that your happiness is not a burden with which I need be concerned, but I would like very much if I could make it my responsibility.” At this he stopped walking towards their non-existent destination and bravely reached out to her. Daring the barest of touches to her hand, mirroring what he felt inside, as he reached out to connect with her and willing her to understand him. “I admit, to be the one who holds your attention again is something for which I am enormously jealous. I realize now what I have taken for granted and how I have not shown you just how much I cherish it, as I ought done long ago.” Sherlock paused to study Molly’s face at this pronouncement, taking her silent shock as distaste, or rejection. “Though you may wish this would come from someone else.”

Sherlock waits without breathing for her answer. 

Molly was struck with comprehension as he spoke. He did not want to comfort her as one does a sister, or even dismiss her friendship as a chemical defect as she had momentarily feared. He was, it seemed, attempting to confess, or make some sort of proclamation to her. And he seemed afraid of _her_ refusal!

_As if he could be so blind as to worry that_ I _wouldn’t have him!_ She thought in disbelief. _Supposing he did only just discover his own feelings for me, could he really not have seen the truth of my affections?_

“You know who I wish it to be,” Molly hinted, hoping he would follow her recent epiphany. The idea that he could be so clueless of her attachment to him had only served to endear him to her all the more. 

He looked at her in surprise. “No, I don’t know,” he avowed, his face awash with disbelief, searching his mind for the information. That he might’ve had this information at his fingertips the entire time and somehow missed it, _him!_

“Mr. Holmes, utilize that extraordinary brain of yours. Who else could I mean? What suitors have I had?” she insisted.

Sherlock remained stunned, shocked into silence. His eyes were running over some unseen point as he filed through his memories of her. Recognizing the look of bittersweet adoration in her eyes every time she looked at him, beginning with the events of the previous night and finally recognizing the same emotion in her eyes being communicated throughout their long shared history. 

Molly gazed up at Sherlock with demure devotion as she finally admitted what he was only beginning to see. “There is no one for me but you.” 

As she said this his eyes finally fixed upon hers. He froze, looking through her, almost scowling, as his mind took in this apparently new information. 

Moments later Sherlock was still staring to a point where Molly had begun to second guess her confession, thinking perhaps she had misread the situation entirely, when at last he stirred. Blinking back to life, Sherlock tenderly took her hand and pressed their palms together, fingers loosely entwined. He looked down at her through his eyelashes as he brought her hand up to his lips and gazed over their hands at her reverently as he pressed his lips to her knuckles with warmth and intent. 

“Then let me assure you, Molly,” his voice full of promise, “there is none for me but you either.”

\------

The End 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, the final installment. I can't even say how surprising it is for me to have accomplished this undertaking. I have a tendency to be self defeatist and quit things before I start them. But with the friendly and encouraging community of writers in the sherlolly community on Tumblr, and the valiant efforts of my friend forthegenuine with beta editing, its done! Seriously, without her this whole thing would be less than 1000 words and I'd have left it there. Never to write again. I'm just surprised and grateful that it turned out differently. Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Big, big, BIG thank you to my beta reader, forthegenuine. I might have naïvely posted this blindly with no beta had you not offered. That would have been a huge mistake. For me this project is night and day different from how it began and I appreciate your time so much.


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